


I've got my eye on you

by reindeersidecar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeersidecar/pseuds/reindeersidecar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble in which Fareeha teaches Angela how to take off her Raptora armor.<br/>EDIT: I've added a THIRD chapter !</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank so much everyone for all of your sweet comments and kudos and such! Here's just a little something I wrote tonight.

The Fareeha Amari that walked the aisles of the locker room was different from all other Fareehas Angela had met. She was different from the Fareeha whose calm, stern voice dealt commands to the squad over the comm link, different than the Fareeha who jogged at 5am alone, and surely different from the Fareeha whom she treated countless times on the examination table of the med bay. In the locker room, Fareeha was unbridled. She wasn’t Pharah, or thinking about being Pharah. She was there to shed Pharah.

Angela had adopted a habit of watching the transformation, the expert way in which Fareeha removes Raptora. The habit was borne mostly out of a doctor’s curiosity—should she ever need to disassemble it to treat an injury—but a small part of her enjoyed it. The seamless ease with which Fareeha’s fingers unlatch and release the plates of her armor, the grace with which she whips her dark hair out from her helmet, the way her flight suit clings with sweat to her muscles.

Angela shook the thought from her mind.

She stood in her own flight suit, having disengaged all her plates and her halo and her pistol. What a relief it was to breathe without her ribs pressing against her armor. She stored everything safely away in her locker, but she didn’t shut it. Instead, she kept it open, like she always did, to linger behind and watch Fareeha.

Fareeha liked her privacy, Angela realized, and she felt only marginally bad for infringing upon it. Fareeha usually stayed behind long after everyone had debriefed and dressed down into their fatigues to take her armor off in solitude. She wasn’t like Lena, or Aleks, for that matter, running naked laps through the locker room. Not that she was ashamed of her body—she never hesitated to flex for Angela in only her sports bra and shorts while she worked out in the gym—but there was something about the ceremony of taking off her armor, of exposing herself after being completely fortified, that made Fareeha want to endure the process alone.

Angela watched her now from behind the open door of her locker. Fareeha began by lifting off her massive pauldrons, baring her broad shoulders. Angela heard a few pops and clicks then as Fareeha’s hand grazed over her ribs, and a hiss of air as she detached her breastplate. As she pulled the piece away, she stopped.  She met Angela’s eyes across the locker room.

Angela nearly shut the door of her locker on her own head.

“Can I help you, Dr. Ziegler?” Fareeha asked. Angela expected anger in her voice—Fareeha had every right to be angry—but she found none.

“Sorry,” Angela murmured, stepping out from behind her locker. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

Fareeha drew her breastplate off, sweat gathering in a dark stain around her collar. She smiled at Angela. “Usually I’d be wary of prying eyes in the locker room, but your attention is not entirely unwelcome.”

Angela cleared her throat, feeling very warm in her flight suit all the sudden. “Yes, well.” She wet her lips. “I was just curious.”

“Of what I look like naked?”

Angela balked. “No! Heavens, no.” Fareeha raised a brow at her, as if Angela not wanting to see her naked was totally implausible—and truthfully, it _was_. Angela backtracked quickly before she could even collect her thoughts. “I mean, yes—well, not like _that_ , just.” She inhaled.

Fareeha chuckled an easy, deep sound. “I’m only joking, Doctor.”

Angela relaxed a bit hearing that. The Recall had only been a couple months ago, and though she’d known Fareeha since they were young girls, this woman was very different from the child who drew tattoos around her eyes in black marker. She had a curious sense of humor, and even more curious sense of playfulness. It was quiet always, never expected, but always well-received. Angela was still trying to get her bearings, to make sense of what the soldier’s discreet flirtations did to her heart and her stomach. “I was curious about how your suit comes off,” she admitted.

“Oh?”

Angela nodded. “In case I ever need to take it off of you.”

Fareeha grinned slyly, a brow cocked. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Angela felt even warmer, realizing the implication of her words. She held her forehead and laughed.  “Gott, I can’t say anything right today, can I?”

Fareeha chuckled under her breath. “If you say the right things, I just might take the suit off for you.”

Angela managed to school her embarrassment this time. Instead, she matched Fareeha’s teasing smile with a smile of her own. “I’ll remember that.”

Fareeha looked thoroughly amused by that answer. She gestured toward herself and reattached her breastplate. “Ta’ali hena, Doktoor. I’ll show you.”

Angela felt a strange tension as she pushed away from her locker and approached Fareeha. In the Raptora, Fareeha was a giant, splendid and statuesque and untouchable. Angela stood before her towering form and inhaled a lungful of fuel and the heady undercurrent of sweat.

She lifted her hands tentatively. “What do I do?”

“Here,” Fareeha murmured, taking her hands guiding them to the sides of her breastplate. “There are latches under here. You press down on them, and let go, and they will release.”

Angela did as instructed, pushing into the levers. They gave under the pressure and sprung back up again when she lifted her hands. The breastplate popped and released with a soft hiss. She lifted it off then and set it down on the bench. She tried not to stare too long at how the flight suit clung to Fareeha’s breasts or her strong torso or the line of sweat down her abdomen. Instead she skirted around Fareeha to her back where her wings sat between her shoulders.

“You’ve been watching me, I see,” Fareeha said with a laugh. Angela realized what she meant. She’d only known the backplate came off next because she’d witnessed the order in which Fareeha removed her armor several times. “I almost don’t want to finish this lesson.”

“Why’s that?”

“You won’t have an excuse to watch me anymore,” Fareeha teased.

Angela bit her lip. She hesitated to ask her next question. “Do I need an excuse?”

Fareeha’s body straightened under Angela’s hands. Her reply came after a brief pause. “No, not you.”

Her words sat in Angela’s stomach, fluttering and unhinged. It meant something that Fareeha would willingly bare herself to Angela when she would not to anyone else. There was a kind of private familiarity to it.

“The latches in the back are the same,” Fareeha instructed. Angela felt for the levers and pressed into them. The backplate released, but Angela held it there and leaned in. “Fareeha,” she murmured.

The soldier stiffened at the sound of her name, and Angela realized how intimate it sounded in her mouth. “Yes?” Fareeha asked.

Angela pressed her forehead against the cool, blue metal. Her heart pounded steadily in her chest. “I hope I will never have to do this.”

She felt Fareeha’s body expand with a breath. “Me neither.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked for a continuation, and I'm happy to oblige!

Angela _tried_ not to indulge too much in Fareeha’s invitation to watch her undress. She didn’t want to be _that_ obvious. Sometimes she disguised her interest by carrying out a casual conversation with the soldier while the Raptora was disengaged piece by piece. Their post-mission banter was something worthwhile, filled with Fareeha’s low chuckles and—embarrassingly enough—Angela’s fits of laughter which she tried in vain to stifle with her hand. She never stayed for when the flight suit came off, however, even if she was sure Fareeha wore undergarments under it from all the times she’d had to cut it open to mend injuries. Seeing Fareeha strip that off in any context other than the med bay made Angela intensely embarrassed—just the thought of it sent her sprinting out of the locker room, ending whatever conversation they were having with a lame excuse about having to file paperwork or take inventory of the medical supplies.

She wasn’t sure what she expected would happen between them if she stayed long enough to see the flight suit come off. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ anything to happen—but in the back of her mind she imagined the fabric hitting the floor, and the soldier would stride up to her and throw her against the lockers and—

She stopped in her tracks, hiding behind her clipboard, as all the women filed out of the locker room in their fatigues. They’d all just returned from a mission that Angela had been able to sit out as Lucio had gone in her stead. The idea of being excused from a mission usually did not sit well with Angela. It often left her pacing the med bay, muttering reassurances to herself under her breath. She didn’t like _waiting_ for trouble to come to her. She wanted to be there, in the field, on the comms, taking trouble in stride, rolling with the current of battle. It had always been easier for her to receive bad news arms swinging rather than sitting down.

Today she tried her absolute best to relax. She let her hair down—metaphorically and literally—wore a nice black, cowled sweater dress under her lab coat, put on _eyeshadow_ , for God’s sake. And it seemed she had every right to relax, as all her charges looked no worse for wear marching out of the locker room. Of course, Fareeha was not among the line of agents, likely waiting for the locker room to clear out as usual. Angela had intended to retrieve her dirty laundry from her locker, and she _could_ very well wait, but Fareeha didn’t _mind_ her company, so why should she wait?

She hugged the clipboard to her chest and strode into the locker room, heels clicking against the tiles. Fareeha was sitting on the bench. She was already well on her way out of Raptora, her torso freed from the plates. Her legs, however, were a different story. Angela knew this was the hardest part for Fareeha to take off as Raptora served a dual purpose as protection and prosthetic legs, replacing legs Fareeha had lost in her military service. It was awkward to disengage the armor sitting down, and it took a remarkable amount of time to do so, but it was the only way she could.

“Hello, Fareeha,” Angela murmured as she made her way to her locker.

“Hi, Dr. Ziegler,” she answered. Her voice sounded tired and irritated—not with Angela, she knew, of course, but with her situation. Angela knew the last thing the soldier wanted after hours and hours of absorbing the kickback of a rocket launcher was to be struggling for another hour with _this_. Angela had half the mind to extend her help, but she didn't want Fareeha to think she was taking pity on her or belittling her in any way.

As she fiddled with the lock, she could hear Fareeha sighing in obvious frustration, her legs knocking together clumsily, the rattling clicks of the levers that clearly wouldn’t budge.

“Angela,” Fareeha sighed. Angela froze, hearing her first name in Fareeha’s mouth. It was very, very rare that the soldier ever addressed her as such, despite Angela’s protests, and she truthfully couldn’t remember the last time she had. It was probably when they were children, when Angela was too young to fit the very stark and serious persona of “Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela turned her head to look at her. Fareeha was staring at the space between her armored knees. “Yes, Fareeha?”

“Could you,” she paused, sighing heavily again. She lifted one leg and it dropped it back against the tiles with a clank. “Could you help me?”

Angela didn’t think she disguised her surprise very well. “Oh, yes, of course.”

She placed her clipboard inside her locker and walked over to Fareeha. Fareeha hung her head. “This is embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“Hush, that’s nonsense,” Angela chided her. She knelt down in front of Fareeha and did exactly as the soldier had taught her, reaching around first to flip open the fastens on the outside of her things. She pushed Fareeha’s legs apart then, trying not to think too hard about what this would all look like to any stragglers in the locker room.

“You look nice.”

Her voice jolted Angela from her thoughts. She glanced up and met Fareeha’s attentive brown eyes. She wanted to dissolve under her gaze, feeling as though the woman was seeing her every wrinkle and spider vein and the clumps of mascara on her lashes. Fareeha instead smiled that quiet, charming smile of hers, and Angela thought how _unfair_ it was that she should try to flirt with her while she was in this compromising position. Angela ducked her head and resumed her work, smirking. “What?” she asked in retaliation. “Between your legs?”

Fareeha coughed loudly into her hand. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, stumbling through her words. “But, um—” Her eyes flickered from Angela’s face, to her chest, to her lap, before meeting her gaze again. “That’s nice, too.”

Angela cleared her throat this time, hiding her warm face as she lifted the levers on the inside of Fareeha’s thighs. She wiggled the boots of armor off of her legs, baring the rounded ends of her thighs, leaving her in nothing but her flight suit. She knew the flight suit had to come off next before Fareeha rigged her regular prosthetics.

Fareeha trapped Angela’s hand against the top of her thigh. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else?” Angela teased, looking pointedly between her legs.

Fareeha laughed the hardest Angela had ever heard her laugh and snapped her thighs together. “You’re quite cocky, aren’t you?”

“Am I wrong?” Angela asked, smiling. She pushed herself up from the floor and retrieved Fareeha’s prosthetics from the locker.

When she turned around, Fareeha was watching her intently. “No,” the soldier answered finally. “You certainly have that effect of me.”

Angela could feel her cheeks burning now, every part of her tense. It was one thing to tease Fareeha about her attraction to her, it was another for the soldier to _admit_ that Angela got her all hot and bothered. She set the prosthetic legs down on the bench beside Fareeha. Fareeha took her in, eyes dragging up the length of her bare legs, then along her dress. “Perhaps we can revisit this,” she suggested, “after I’ve had a proper shower and gotten dressed.”

“And not in a locker room,” Angela added.

Fareeha chuckled. “Yes, and after you’ve bought me dinner.”

Angela cocked a brow. “High-maintenance, are we?”

The soldier grinned a brilliant flash of white teeth. “I’m not that easy to seduce, Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela eyed her pointedly. “It certainly looks like you are.”

Fareeha raised her brows and laughed. “That hardly seems a fair observation from a woman as seductive and intoxicating as yourself.”

Angela rolled her eyes, smiling, and turned on her heel. She gathered her dirty laundry from her locker. Fareeha watched her the whole time. “Dinner in my quarters,” Angela said as she made her way to the door. “I’m cooking.”

Fareeha called out after her, “I’ll be there.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I clearly am unable to resist peer pressure, so here is another chapter, the LAST chapter lmao... I appreciate all of the comments you leave as always!

Angela was halfway through pouring Fareeha’s wine glass when the alarm blared.

She swore under her breath and waited promptly for Commander Morrison’s voice to buzz in over the intercom. “Attention, Rotation Lima agents,” his voice crackled, and he went on to describe what had been a shooting in Cairo that had left several wounded and dead. The specific number of casualties remained to be seen. He requested Rotation Lima, meaning all agents with proper medical training, obviously to provide whatever support they could extend to the recovery efforts. Of course, that rotation included Angela Ziegler, the most prodigious medic their organization had.

She set down the wine bottle and turned to Fareeha who sat beside her at the kitchen island looking very glum after the commander’s announcement. The food—untouched, as it seemed it would remain for the better part of the night—smelled wonderful, if she was allowed to say so. She had grilled salmon fillets—they were stationed in Alexandria, it would be a crime _not_ to—which she paired astutely with asparagus and a bottle of Pinot Noir she’d been saving for a rainy day.

“Go,” Fareeha murmured. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she was out of her flight suit now, sporting a classy navy jumpsuit that Angela was _sure_ she wore to show off her arms. “I’ll wait for you.”

“No, don’t be absurd. You don’t have to wait,” Angela said. She gestured to Fareeha’s plate. “Please, before it gets cold.”

“You’re absurd if you think I’ll endure this date alone,” Fareeha teased.

Angela smiled. “A date, is it?” She liked the sound of that. Truthfully, she’d just expected they’d have a bit of fun tonight, get out whatever pent up sexual frustration had accrued over the past few weeks since Fareeha had first shown her how to disassemble Raptora in the locker room. The possibility of something more, however, that was not entirely unwelcome. It was appealing, despite the red tape and regulations outlawing that behavior.

“Whatever I have to call it to not have to eat dinner alone on a Friday night,” Fareeha answered with a chuckle, and Angela felt her breath catch under Fareeha’s dark, prowling gaze. “And to get you out of that dress.”

Angela bit back her laugh, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. “You’re quite confident that’s how this night will play out.”

“There won’t be any night left if you don’t leave now,” Fareeha said touching a hand to the small of her back.

“Right,” Angela sighed and stood from her stool. She gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Please, do eat, Fareeha. Don’t wait for me.”

As Angela strode toward the door, Fareeha hummed an acknowledgment, but they both knew she would do no such thing.

 

It was the middle of the night when Angela dragged her legs down the halls of the dorm. Her Valkyrie suit was fused to her body with sweat and blood that was not her own.  She decided she would wear it to bed. She hadn’t the strength to take it off.

The light shone through the crack beneath her door. Then she remembered: Fareeha was still there.

She slowly eased the door open to discover Fareeha asleep atop the stool, face nested in the bed of her arms upon the kitchen island. Her food remained untouched, her wine glass still full. Angela stumbled drowsily over to her. She threaded her fingers through Fareeha’s hair. It was dark and silky, just like she’d always imagined it to be. Fareeha stirred under her touch and lifted her head slightly, one eye cracked open. She smiled dreamily. “Hello.”

Angela tucked a few glossy strands behind Fareeha’s ear. Her head felt foggy. All she wanted was to sleep. “Come to bed.”

Fareeha sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Your bed?” she asked.

“You’re not sleeping in that stool,” Angela mumbled. She shuffled toward her bed. She didn’t care if Fareeha followed or if Fareeha went to her room at this point. She was too tired to care.

Suddenly two strong hands came around the plated waist of her Valkyrie suit. “I'll help you out of this,” Fareeha murmured in her ear.

Angela turned in her arms and pressed her hands to the other woman’s chest. “Fareeha, you don’t have to….” She trailed off, too exhausted to protest.

“I’m not spooning a metal can.” She wiped grease from Angela’s cheek. “A very attractive, curvy, metal can, but still.” All her words were slurred with sleep. Angela sympathized with that feeling.

Angela laughed under her breath. “You’re spooning me now, are you?”

“Hmm.”  Fareeha lifted the halo from her head and set it down on the desk. She then turned Angela around and flicked each latch down the spine of the Valkyrie.

Angela smiled to herself. “Someone has been watching me in the locker room.”

“In case I ever needed to take it off of you,” Fareeha supplied, recalling the excuse Angela had given her a few weeks ago. Angela knew her intentions were a little less innocent than her own had been.

Her Valkyrie suit split open like a shell, and Fareeha slid it off Angela’s shoulders, setting it down upon her desk chair. Angela moved for the bed. The flight suit was sewn into her at this point, and it wouldn’t be that uncomfortable to sleep in. Not that she would notice either way, what with how drained she was.

She flopped down onto her stomach, face-first into the pillow. She felt the bed dip beside her, Fareeha’s hand freeing her hair from its ponytail. Fareeha then rolled her onto her back. Angela blinked sleepily up at her as Fareeha propped herself up on her elbow, stretched out beside her. She played with the zipper of Angela’s flight suit. “Is this okay?” Her voice was soft, barely a murmur.

Angela hummed. She wouldn’t complain about being rid of this thing. Fareeha pulled the zipper slowly, from her throat, down along the length of her body, to her naval. She peeled the fabric from Angela’s shoulders. Angela lifted her back first, and then her hips, as Fareeha shimmied the suit off of her. Angela was too tired to be embarrassed, lying there like she was in only her bra and panties, but she was sure she would be mortified when she woke up tomorrow morning.

She turned over and let Fareeha spoon her like the soldier said she would, their legs tangled, Fareeha’s arm stretched out beneath her neck, the other clutching Angela against her chest. Her breath was warm against Angela’s ear, her nape, the naked crook of her shoulder. Angela sighed softly. She thought hazily about what it would feel like if Fareeha’s hand drifted lower, from where it lay upon her ribs, down her stomach, her abdomen. She pressed herself down a bit and met the thigh Fareeha had wedged between her legs. She swallowed whatever involuntary sound was about to come out of her throat. She was in that kind of drowsy fog of arousal, too tired to fuck, too turned on to sleep. The burden, she thought, of lying with a beautiful woman’s breasts nestled between her shoulder blades.

She was too tired to be responsible, also. Or professional. But there was nothing professional about what they were doing now, and if someone found Fareeha stumbling out of here tomorrow morning, it would be both of their necks. But they’d already crossed the line, so Angela rubbed herself down again onto Fareeha’s thigh. This time, however, she was met with applied pressure. She bit back a groan.

“Let me take care of you, Doctor,” Fareeha whispered in her ear, her voice throaty and warm. 

Angela was about to correct her name, but thought against it, realizing she _liked_ that Fareeha called her that, even when she was half-naked with her in bed. Instead, she held the hand Fareeha had against her ribs and guided it down between her legs. Fareeha’s deft fingers pushed under the lacy waistband of her underwear. She sucked bruises onto Angela’s neck as she worked, other hand squeezing her breasts beneath her bra. She murmured some kind of saucy remark about how Angela owed her dinner some other time, and she didn’t mean the kind served on a plate. Within a matter of minutes, she had Angela shuddering and panting, hips bucking fervently into her hand.

Angela fell from her high and flittered on the edge of sleep. She shifted onto her other shoulder. Fareeha watched her through heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered.

Angela smiled and leaned in, clutching the fabric of the jumpsuit gathered at her waist. She moved her mouth against Fareeha’s, gentle and languid. Fareeha sighed into her lips and buried her face in the crook of Angela’s neck where she fell asleep, snoring softly into the morning.


End file.
